


Meeting Zevran

by plutoshero



Series: Gay Warden [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, gray warden? more like gay warden, more tags to be added as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 11:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17559236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutoshero/pseuds/plutoshero
Summary: how Zevran and the Dalish rogue Gray Warden, Arren, meet. first half is all canon dialog, 2nd half is original





	Meeting Zevran

It was bound to happen sooner or later; Loghain sending someone to try and kill them.  It’s not exactly something you can mark on a calendar though. The best the group of heroes could do was stay alert and hope luck is on their side, just like any other day.  On the way to Denerim, when the newest Gray Wardens generosity took a turn for a worse, the band found themselves ambushed. Despite being outnumbered they managed to make quick work of getting the upper hand with minimal injuries.  When only one remained, an arrow was shot through the assassins shoulder. In his distraction to pull it out, he was knocked unconscious by the blow of a shield to his head.

 

Equally abruptly, the elf was woken by light slaps to his face, not enough to hurt, but enough to wake him with a groan.  Amber eyes squinted to see the man he had just been trying to kill squatting in front of him, staring at him with an almost bored expression.  He shifted but groaned again at the pressure that put on Maker knows how many wounds he had.

 

“I...rather thought I would wake up dead.  Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

 

“I have some questions.”  The makeshift leader of the Gray Wardens, Arren, had a quiet yet firm voice.  Quite the contrast to his bright green eyes. He squatted with his forearms on his knees, never taking his eyes off the blondes. 

 

“Ah, so I am to be interrogated?  Let me save you some time.” No point in dragging this out.  If he was going to live he would rather not with the arrow that still remained in his shoulder.  “My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antavian Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Gray Wardens.  Which I have failed at, sadly.”

 

“Mm.  What are the Antavian Crows?”

 

“I can tell you that.”  A red headed woman behind his mark spoke up.  Still Arren did not take his eyes off his almost killer, instead his pointed ears just flicked back, signaling that he was listening.  “They are an order of assassins out of Antavia. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done...so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.”

 

“Quite right,” Zevran spoke, once again getting the Wardens full attention. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard much of the crows out here.  Back where I come from, we’re rather infamous.”

 

“Who hired you to kill us?”

 

“A rather taciturn fellow in the capital.  Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that’s it.”

 

“Does that mean you are loyal to Loghain?”

 

“I have no idea what his issues are with you.  The usual I imagine. You threaten his power, yes?”  The captive elf gave the best shrug he could at the moment.  “Beyond that, no, I’m not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.”

 

“And now that you’ve failed that service?”  An eyebrow rose as the question grew a small chuckle from the other.

 

“Well that’s between Loghain and the Crows.  And between the Crows and myself.”

 

“And between you and me?”

 

“Isn’t that what we’re establishing now?”  The other elf paused, thinking over his next few questions.  He flipped short the copper hair that had gotten in his face back.

 

“How much were you paid?”

 

“ _ I  _ wasn’t paid anything.  The Crows however, were paid quite handsomely, or so I understand.  Which does make me about as poor as a Chantry mouse, come to think of it.  Being an Antavian Crow isn’t for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.”

 

“Then why are you one?”

 

“Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it’s because I wasn’t given much of a choice.  The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain too, or so I’m led to believe. But don’t let my sad story influence you.  The crows aren’t so bad. They keep one well supplied; wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy.” He paused, expecting some kind of reaction to the flirting, but when he got none he continued.  “Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I’d really think twice about it.”

“Thanks.  I’ll take that under advisement.  Why are you telling me this?”

 

Another laugh.  “Why not? I wasn’t paid for silence, not that I offered it precisely.”

 

“Aren’t you at least loyal to your employers?”

 

“Loyalty is an interesting concept.  If you wish, and you’re done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.”  An eyebrow rose.

 

“I’m listening.”

 

“Well.  Here’s the deal.  I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit.  That’s how it works, if you don’t kill me, the Crows will.  The thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause, so, let me serve you instead.”

 

“Can I expect the same amount of loyalty from you?”

 

“I happen to be a very loyal person!  Up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing.  That’s not a fault really, is it? I mean, unless you’re the sort who would do the same thing.  In which case I...don’t come very well recommended I suppose.”

 

“Why would I want your service?”

 

“Why?  Because I am skilled at many things.  From fighting, to stealth, and picking locks.  I could also warn you, should the Antavian Crows attempt something more...sophisticated, now that my attempts have failed.  I could also stand around and look pretty if you prefer,” he grinned. “Warm your bed, fend off unwanted suitors, no?”

 

Finally a reaction.  A scoff and a roll of the eyes, though a small smile was on Arren’s face as well.

 

“And what do you want in return?”

 

“Well…let’s see.  Being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you.  And somewhere down the line, if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, ten I go on my way.  Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?”

 

Arren was quiet, presumably done with his interrogation.  He stared at the other elf, fingers lightly tapping against his knee as he weighed his options.  Suddenly he stood, popping his back as he turned it to the man who tried to kill him not an hour ago.

 

“Very well.  I accept your offer.”

 

Immediately there was an uproar amongst Arrens travel companions.  A tall blond in particular let out a squeak, voice cracking as he tried to question Arrens decision.

 

“What?!  You’re taking the assassin with us now?  Does that really seem like a good idea?” Arren looked up at the human and shrugged.

 

“We could use him.  We’re not exactly in any position to turn down any fighting hands.”

 

Alistair scowled, looking away.  “Alright, alright, I see your point.  Still, if there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”  He crossed his arms, walking away. Not usually one to agree with Alistair, but certainly not one to say she did, Morrigan passively expressed similar concerns.

 

“A fine plan,” the witch said.  “But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you.”

 

“That’s excellent advice for anyone!”  The Antavian grinned from the ground. Arren rolled his eyes and helped Zevran stand, acting as support against his better shoulder.  More serious now, Zevran watched the other closely. “I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you chose to release me from it.  I am your man, without reservation...this I swear.” He dipped his head respectfully, Arren returning a briefer one in acknowledgement. 

 

“Come on then, let’s get your wounds tended to.  Alistair, Leliana!” At his call the Gray Warden and bard came over.  “Find a suitable place to set camp, it will be dark before too long. Away from these corpses, if you would.”  The two dutifully nodded and left. As they walked to a place to sit Zevran was able to take in the rest of who he would now be travelling with.

 

The witch from earlier, tall, lanky, dark haired woman with cold eyes began looting the bodies around them.  A giant of a man, a Qunari, sat on the tree that had been knocked over to block the groups exit, cleaning his sword.  Another mage, this one elderly, was speaking with two dwarves with a caravan, making sure they were well and able to get through.  A Mabari walked around, sniffing the ground as it kept itself busy. Between those four, the ex templar, the Chantry woman, and their Dalish leader, this was certainly an interesting group of misfits.

 

Zevran was sat on a lower branch of the fallen tree.  The elder, Wynne as Arren thanked her, brought over a small kit, and left them be, with only a small glance over the assassin.

 

“Ah, I believe your healer just walked away?  I thought I was to be tended to?”

 

“You haven’t earned Wynne’s care yet.  You’ll have to settle for me.”

 

“Seems to me more an honor.”  He grinned as Arren ignored him, prepping a few items.  He pulled a knife from his boot and started to cut Zevran’s shirt off.  “My Warden, if you wanted to see me shirtless all you need is ask.”

 

“Yes, why don’t you just lift your arms and take your shirt off over that arrow.  See how that goes.” So serious...oh Zevran would have to change that. With surprising care Arren worked the shirt off, trying not to disrupt the wound to the best of his ability.

 

“Don’t scream.”  He warned as he carefully grabbed the arrow.

 

“I’ll have you know, I have quite the high pain tolerance.  Initiation with the Crows requires th-” He cut himself off with a groan, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.  Arren held a cloth to Zevran’s shoulder as he examined the arrow. Good enough to still be used. So he put it in the quiver on his back, then returned his attention to the medical kit, picking out a few supplies.  A few steady breaths and Zevran felt well enough to talk without his voice cracking.

 

“You have asked many questions of me, my Warden, now it is my turn, yes?”

 

“You may ask.  But I may not answer.”

 

“Fair enough.”  Arren released the pressure on the hole in his shoulder, dabbing elfroot extract on it before cleaning the wound.  “You are Dalish, yes?”

 

“I am.”

 

“So how does a Dalish elf get caught up in the Gray Warden business, leading three humans and a Qunari?”  The other elf had rough hands, covered by familiar gloves, though his touch was gentle as he disinfected Zevran’s shoulder.

 

“Through a series of unfortunate events.  And the understanding that being a Gray Warden is an honor, and that Fereldon is my home, regardless of where my clans camp is, so I should protect it.”

 

“Leaving ones clan is very...unusual for the Dalish, or so I am lead to believe.”

 

“You are lead correctly.  Much like you though, I did not have much of a choice.  This will pinch.” A hot needle was pushed through Zevran’s skin as Arren began to stitch it back together.

 

“Ah, what tragic lives we elves lead.  Forced into the ways of killers.”

 

“I have killed shem before I was a Gray Warden.”

 

“That does not leave your human companions watching their backs?”

 

“Less than it will have them for you.”  Bright seafoam eyes met amber behind short, half shaved copper hair, a small grin on his face.  He cut off the string and covered the stitching, putting away the material. “It will be stiff. Talk to Bodahn, the dwarf, over there about getting yourself some new armor.  Try not to spend too much money, we don’t exactly get donations to help the cause. He doesn’t have any tents though, you will have to wait until Denerim to get your own. In the meantime you may sleep next to the fire, or in my tent.”

 

Zevran chuckled at that.  “Well I am never one to turn down such an invitation from a handsome man.”  He watched as the other elf took the medical kit, standing up and began to walk away.  Once again turning his back to the man who tried to kill him an hour ago. “Are you not worried I will reattempt my mission while you lay asleep next to me?”

 

The mabari had run up to it’s master when he stood, short tail making it’s entire lower half wag.  It growled at Zevran at the threat. Arren patted the side of it’s head, glancing down at it before over his shoulder at Zevran, a small smirk on his face.

 

“No.”  He walked away, towards Wynne, the dog following.

 

Oh, an interesting group indeed.


End file.
